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发帖数: 9656 | 1 http://my.cnd.org/modules/wfsection/article.php?articleid=27005
·廖 康·
英国19世纪浪漫主义诗人济慈(John Keats，1795－1821)看着一个希腊石雕古瓮上的形
像情不自禁大发思古之幽情：你这秀丽的姑娘，雕在古瓮上。在静默之中保持完美，不
曾受到人世纷争的搅扰和岁月无情的摧残。穿越时空，形体依旧，仿佛在向我讲述你花
样年华的故事，比任何诗歌都更加美丽动听。环绕着你这美丽的姑娘，曾有多少神奇的
传说？在希腊昙邳或阿卡狄的溪谷里，有多少神和人曾经追求你的青睐？他们曾经怎样
疯狂地追求？吹着什么笛子？打着什么鼓？陶醉在什么样的狂喜之中？那是些什么神和
人呀？竟然都不值得你以身相许？
凝视着古瓮上欲吻未吻的一对青年男女，济慈感慨道：听见的乐声再美妙，也比不上没
听见的乐声。雕刻在树下的吹笛人，你尽情吹吧，我虽然听不见，但你无声的乐曲吹入
我的灵魂，永无终止。如同雕刻的树木一样，树叶永不凋零。大胆的恋人也是一样，你
已经接近这位美女，但却永远、永远也吻不上。可是不要悲哀，这样，她将永远美丽，
你将永远热恋如初！
由此，济慈想到生命的短暂、艺术的永恒，进一步感叹道：雕在古瓮上的树木啊，你有
福了，你的枝叶再也不会剥落，你将春光永驻。吹笛人也有福了，你的歌曲必将永远清
新悦耳。啊，更幸福的是这对情人，你们的爱之甘醇方斟未饮，永远甜蜜；你们的心永
远热烈地跳动，永远年轻；远远超越活人的情感，绝不会使心灵悲伤、厌倦，不会让头
脑发烧、嘴唇焦渴，不会经历恋人的痛苦。
这希腊古瓮上不仅有那对恋人，还有一队人牵着牛，前往祭坛。那是个什么故事？济慈
发问：神秘的祭司，你带领的这些人是谁？你要把这身披花环，朝天哞叫的小牛牵到哪
个绿色的祭坛？这些人来自哪个小镇？傍河傍海抑或是有水塘的乡村？他们行走在这敬
神的清晨，那小镇的街道便永远清静，再也无人返回，告诉小镇为什么人们弃你而去。
凝视着希腊古瓮上的这些雕刻，济慈感叹：哦，雅典的形像！美丽的姿态！这些男男女
女，他们身边的林木和脚下的青草，这些静默的形状啊，你们就像永恒一样，使我们超
越今天的思想：你雕刻出来的冰冷的牧歌，哪怕我们这一代人都在暮年中凋落，你仍将
清新依旧！在另外一些人的忧伤中，你还会像朋友一样抚慰人们：“美即是真，真即是
美，”这涵括你们所知道和所需要知道的一切。
关于这首诗结尾的宣称“美即是真，真即是美”无数阐释者花费了无数精力论证其中的
道理，但还是有人反驳其“武断的混淆”。我认为没有争论的必要。这是诗人的信仰，
全诗都在反复感叹生命短促，情感易变。唯有艺术长存，将那美好的一刻定格在古瓮上
，穿越时空，留给后人。如果你一定要争辩：这古瓮也可能破损，济慈的诗也可能失传
。那你就不是在欣赏诗，鉴赏美，更与济慈无缘。
2010年9月19日
附济慈原诗：
Ode on a Grecian Urn
By John Keats
1
Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
2
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
3
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
4
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.
5
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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